The Science of Attraction
by The Mandyfish
Summary: Sherlock needs to perform an experiment on the science behind attraction. He wants John to be his guinea pig. Hilarity ensues. Pre-slash to begin with though it's really gotten out of hand. Read and Review please
1. Chapter 1

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: This was meant to be a drabble, but it's gotten a bit out of hand. :S I don't know how many chapters there will be, but I've got the next one done and the one after is started. It's not Beta'd so any mistakes are entirely my own. Reviews are appreciated; I like to know how my work looks to people other than myself. **_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine.**_

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><p>"I've got it! I will finally be able to understand!"<p>

John Watson looked up, the current line of his book promptly forgotten as his taller flatmate bounced into the room on the balls of his feet and leapt onto the couch, landing on his back with a feline grace that John could never, ever attain, not matter how hard he tried.

It took John a minute or two to register the words that Sherlock had yelled as he burst in, but when he found them he was still confused.

"Sorry, what?"

Sherlock looked over at his flatmate before sighing and assuming his 'all humans are idiots' expression before continuing.

"An experiment John, one that has confounded me since my youth."

John was still confused, it was late in the evening, he hadn't had much sleep and Sherlock was moving way too fast with his thoughts.

_Well that's just a constant factor, his brain always has about 6 different though trains going at once._

He shook his head to clear it then tried again.

"I still don't understand a word you're going on about. Can you start again?"

Sherlock sat up, his elbows on his knees, and his fingers laced together, his classic thinking position. He fixed his eyes on John as if that would somehow make him understand better.

"Sexuality, John. Although I find relationships tedious, dull and boring, I sometimes wonder whether it's not the relationships themselves, but the content matter that makes them that way."

John stood suddenly, and Sherlock's eyes followed him. He frowned slightly as John went to move.

"Where are you going?"

John stretched as he answered, "I'm getting a cup of tea, so I can try and understand what you're going on about. Do you want one?"

"Coffee please, black, 2 sugars. So you're going to listen to my hypothesis."

"Well I suppose so; I've got nothing better to do with my time."

Sherlock frowned again as John disappeared into the kitchen. It wasn't like him to not question Sherlock's ranting. He chalked it up to a lack of sleep from the case they had just been on and left it.

John leaned against the bench as he waited for the kettle to boil. Trust Sherlock to attempt to figure out his sexuality through an experiment. He insisted on approaching things in such a clinical manner it was no wonder he found relationships tedious.

As John returned from making respective drinks Sherlock sat up, accepting his coffee with a gracious nod. When he was sure John was comfortable he resumed his hypothesis.

"I want to find out find out whether sexuality is based less upon gender or more upon aspects of a personality. It's perfectly acceptable to identify as straight, gay, asexual, pansexual, eccetra. But what if gender is not the defining point of attraction?"

John nodded, the man did have a point.

Sherlock continued, "I have identified as asexual since my teen years, even though I only had limited data to go on at the time."

John spluttered a little at that statement, "What do you mean limited data?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I experimented, isn't that what teenagers do, or did, or whatever. I had brief and fairly boring intimacies during my time at both high school and college and I was not impressed by either gender, hence, I came to the conclusion that I was asexual."

John's eyebrows shot up as he stared at his flatmate and friend. Sherlock tutted at him, "Now, now, don't be like that. You can't say you haven't been there, done that."

John swallowed, "You're completely right, but still, I didn't really expect to hear that, I just sort of assumed you, uhh..."

"Weren't capable of human emotion? Don't need physical release? Wasn't tempted by racing hormones? Wrong on all counts, though I have maintained my abstinence since then, something I am rather proud of."

Sherlock's tone wasn't mean, but it was pointed, and John swallowed again, "I just wasn't expecting any of that to come out of your mouth that's all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course not, am I really that unpredictable?"

John nodded, and the eyes rolled again, "Well then, it is only of late that I've been looking into it again since one or two things have, cropped up, so to speak, and I am of the opinion that maybe those teenage trysts did not work because they were, to speak stereotypically, 'not the ones for me'. Maybe I was looking too vaguely into it by simply experimenting with different genders, maybe I need to go deeper...analyse why they didn't work, what parts went wrong so to speak."

His voice trailed off and John took the chance to look at his watch, it was nearly 10.

"Do you want to continue this in the morning Sherlock, it's nearly 10, and I do actually want some sleep sometime this week."

If Sherlock was listening he didn't make it obvious at all, on the contrary he kept speaking as though John hadn't said a word.

"Don't you understand John; I need your help with an experiment."

John shook his head, it was really too late to even think about what his flatmate was offering.

"Ugh, ask me in the morning Sherlock, I'm not in the right state to answer you right now."

"But you WILL help me?"

"I suppose so; I don't generally have a choice in these matters."

"What are you talking about John, you always have a choice."

"Yeah well, just tell me what it entails then I'll consider."

Sherlock paused. At first John thought he was lost for words, then he realised that he was merely trying to rephrase whatever it was he was going to say.

"I...I can't really tell you that. You see, prior knowledge could affect the data."

John sighed; he really just wanted to go to bed. He could deal with a sexually confused Sherlock in the morning.

"Well, then, give me a basic outline of what you intend to do and I'll decide whether I'll do it."

Sherlock considered the terms, and then started talking rapidly, "Well, I intend to work out what I've missed in terms of attraction and how that affects later intimacies. I've done some preliminary research and I intend to break the experiment into to sections so I can analyse each part in its whole and work out how each part links together. I will also be studying reactions so I can ascertain how each part works."

John nodded, it was a reasonable sounding experiment but still, "Where do I come into it?"

Sherlock looked at him with his 'you really are an idiot' expression, "Why, I'll be testing it all on you of course, seeing as you are my flatmate it can be assumed that our friendship closely resembles what prospective lovers have before they choose to pursue that particular path."

John rubbed his fingers against his temples absent-mindedly. He'd put up with being the guinea pig for a lot of Sherlock's experiments. He still hadn't fully recovered from experiments regarding the residue that hair removal cream left on bodies. His arms had felt weird ever since. _'It could be a crucial point in a case…'_ Sherlock had defended. He shook his head again; he really was too tired to make a decision right now.

"Look, I'll think about it and tell you in the morning."

Sherlock smiled his Cheshire cat grin in John's direction. John could tell from that smile that the answer would be a yes regardless of his input. He rinsed out his cup and sighed as he walked up the stairs to his bedroom. It was going to be a long few weeks if Sherlock insisted on going through with this.

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><p><em><strong>So, what do you think? Am I in character enough? (It always annoys me when fics are written out of character and I'd hate to do the same)<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: Well here's the second chapter with some edits I made to it. Thank you so much for your reviews and just reading it. The brilliant reviews are really what inspired me fix this one up fully today and post it. Read and Review….and uhh, this one is also not Beta'd, so again, any mistakes are my own. **_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine.**_

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><p>When John woke the next morning from a rather pleasant sleep; no screeching violin concerto's at 2 in the morning; and he walked down the stairs he noticed that Sherlock was lying on the couch doubled over, surrounded by paper. Judging from the uncomfortable looking position his neck was in, John assumed he had just fallen asleep through whatever he was doing. '<em>That's what you get for not sleeping like a normal person'<em> John thought to himself as he fixed himself a morning cup of tea.

As he sat down in his chair Sherlock stirred. He blinked owlishly for a few seconds before reverting to his normal analytical self.

"Ahh, John, you're up. Good. Good. You aren't working today are you?"

John shook his head, "No, I took the rest of the week off remember, 'recuperation from the case', or weren't you listening."

"Well, I'm not the one that goes to the surgery, I probably deleted it."

John sighed, "I'm not going in today. What are you intending on doing?"

Sherlock clasped his hands together, "Well, technically we are going to be nothing out of the ordinary, watching crap telly, you'll probably blog a bit, I'll play my violin, we'll order take-out because you won't want to cook, and because I used the last packet of pasta for an experiment. The only difference is I will be cataloguing data."

John looked at him warily, "How are you intending to get this data?"

"I'm not going to push you up against a wall and snog you senseless to test your heart-rate if that's what you're asking. This part is about subtlety, and if all goes to plan, you won't even realise it's happening."

"You realise I'm going to be on edge now, looking for what you're doing."

"Please don't, if you're too wary it may affect the data, and I don't really have anyone else to perform this experiment on."

"Alright."

John stood to put his now empty cup in the kitchen, "Do you want a coffee while I'm up?"

There was a muffled reply from the sitting room and John decided to make one for him anyway. It wasn't the healthiest of breakfasts, but it was better than nothing. When he went back to the sitting room Sherlock was gone; he put the mug on the table and said loudly to no-one in particular, "Coffee's on the table, I'm going out. We need some groceries."

Sherlock bounded down the stairs at John's voice, violin in hand "What?"

John shrugged his coat on and grabbed his phone as he answered, "I'm going out, I'll be back in time for the crap midday telly."

As John walked out of the door Sherlock's brow furrowed. He didn't want John going out, it was imperative that he stay near him for the experiment. He looked at the coffee sitting on the table. Taking a deep breath he decided that he could wait for John to return to start his experiment. He might be a little less tense then as well.

He sat down and looked over his list. It was broken down into four sections, with notations describing various experiments under the sections. The first one merely required cataloguing reactions. How John reacted to a light touch here, moving closer there, having his tea made for him instead of the other way around.

It was brilliant in its simplicity, thought Sherlock as he studied his notes. Seeing as John was already attracted to him, it would make his experiment much more realistic. That was where he stopped suddenly and looked up. _John was already attracted to him_. When had he taken that into account? And why didn't it bother him?

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><p>It only took John an hour and a half to get all that he needed from the shops. He had managed to successfully use the chip and pin machine for the third time in a row and he was hoping that it was sign of better times ahead. He fumbled for the key to the flat and let himself in, mumbling a hello to Mrs Hudson on his way upstairs. When he got in, he saw Sherlock fixated on a show on telly. It was one of those psychological studies that he so loved pulling apart at the seams.<p>

"No argument today?"

Sherlock's voice rang into the kitchen as John was putting the groceries away.

John couldn't help but smile at the patronising tone in Sherlock's voice, "No, no argument, we kissed and made up three shopping trips ago and she hasn't given me any problems since."

Sherlock's chuckle was audible over the sound of the advert on TV for some sort of washing powder, "Come in here and sit down, I need to bring you up to speed with this hilarious show."

"Give me a tic, I need some tea."

John smiled as he heard Sherlock grumbling but promptly stopped when he walked through the door, tea in hand. He put the tea on the coffee table and collapsed into the sofa next to Sherlock. When he went to pick up his tea, he stopped, and looked over at his flatmate, "Sherlock, did you actually make tea?"

"Hmm, oh yes, I thought you'd like some when you returned but I was too preoccupied to tell you when you first walked through the door."

John shook his head, "Thank you, that's umm, very nice of you."

Sherlock inclined his head in acknowledgement but shushed any reply with a slight touch to John's thigh, "Shh, the ads have finished, and this is, quite frankly, bloody hilarious."

John took the instruction and watched the show, chuckling at the parts that were actually quite outrageous. It was only when he went to put his cup back on the table that he realised that Sherlock's hand was still on his thigh, not moving, just sitting there comfortably. Now that he had realised his thigh felt rather warm where the hand was, but he decided to not make an attempt to move it. _Must be part of his experiment_ he thought quickly, trying to dispel the feeling that while Sherlock's hand was still, his fingers were not. He wondered what would happen if he were to move his hand, but as soon as he got near Sherlock's it disappeared, first back onto Sherlock's own leg, then casually into the small space between them as the man relaxed again._ If he wants to experiment like that, two can play at that game,_ he thought to himself. He felt a short pang of loss at the removal of that warm hand, and looked down to where it was now. He waited until the next lot of adverts were over and the telly had Sherlock's full attention when he attempted his next move. He let his hand slip between them also, casually. He made a concious effort to look as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened while he waited for Sherlock's reaction.

He felt the other man tense at first, not taking his eyes of the telly. John could practically feel the other man's brain working away, trying to deduce what to do next. Then he felt it, the whisper smooth touch of Sherlock's thumb against his palm. It ignited an odd fire inside him that he quelled immediately. It was strange and foreign and John Watson did not like strange and foreign things. Sherlock touched his palm again, moving his hand ever so slightly so that Johns hand was resting in his own. They sat like that, making small talk over the adds, neither moving, nor making any reference to the occurrence.

The show ended and John yawned; as he stretched he felt Sherlock squeeze his hand slightly. He did not know how he was meant to react so he did nothing. He could feel the tension simply oozing between the two of them, and was overcome with a sudden urge to get out. He stood quickly, and picked up his cup.

"I'm going to check my blog, do you want coffee?"

Sherlock looked up at him, "What? Oh, no thank you. I'm just cataloguing..."

And if John hadn't been mistaken, he would have said that Sherlock's cheeks contained just a hint of a blush over them.

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><p><em><strong>So, what do you all think now aye? As before, read and review, it makes me happy. I'm also open to suggestions and critique, anything to improve my writing. <strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: Thank you so much guys for all the favourites and the alerts and the reviews. I was not expecting this sort of reception at all for my little old story. Thank you to those who have given me constructive criticism, I've tried to fix it up as much as I can. This chapter isn't Beta'd again, though while we are on the topic, if anyone would like to Beta it, feel free to PM me. Also if you have any suggestions you think might work, PM me also. **_

_**I'm trying to get into a regular updating schedule of 4-5 days, so I can fully devote myself to trying to figure out the storyline. **_

_**That's all. On with Chapter 3 =) **_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine.**_

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><p>John looked at his watch. Two hours had passed. In that time, he'd checked his blog, had a shower, made dinner, partially eaten his own, and Sherlock hadn't moved. The few times he had tried to make conversation he'd been pushed away with a disgruntled murmur of 'thinking' and a wave of his hand. John had given up after the third time. He settled into his favourite chair to try and finish the book he was reading. He was just getting into it when Sherlock stood abruptly, and walked out of the sitting room towards his bedroom. John thought about asking where he was going, but decided against it, any movement was better than none.<p>

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><p>For the first time in the detective's life, he couldn't think. Even when he had used up all his usual methods of clearing his head, he couldn't think. What he did think about, was calling this whole experiment off and telling John that it was just a ruse to see if he would react. No, John wouldn't like that at all. He sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for some great feat of mind-power to assist him in his case. He stared at his phone as if hoping by looking at it Lestrade would magically text him about a case that was so urgent he could bounce out of the hall, grab his coat and John and forget about this blasted experiment that wasn't working out the way it was supposed to.<p>

He picked up his notebook, intending to see where he had gone wrong, when there was a knock at his door.

"Sherlock?"

He stood abruptly and opened the door, looking down at John standing sheepishly there in front of him.

"What?"

He knew he sounded abrupt, but he wasn't in the mood to bother with it. He wanted to reassess his situation, not be confronted by it. John held out a plate of biscuits and a cup of coffee without meeting Sherlock's eyes, "I've been threatened with eviction if you don't eat these, or at least drink this. Mrs Hudson's orders."

Sherlock looked down the bridge of his nose at John for a minute, then took the plate and the cup with an attitude bordering on indifference. "I suppose I can't have my blogger evicted. Tell her I took them."

He shut the door more quickly than he intended and didn't move until he heard John's footsteps receding down the hallway. When he was sure he was gone, he looked down at the biscuits with distaste. John may be nice enough to choke down Mrs Hudson's sickly sweet cookies, but Sherlock was not. He put the plate on his desk and resumed his position on his bed, this time with coffee. He wasn't intending to drink it, but the fragrant smell of the drink was helping to clear his mind a little. He put the cup on his bedside table and picked up his notebook again and opened it to the page he had scribbled on.

_The Science of Attraction_

_4 parts:_

_Mental Attraction: Feelings of affection towards the person, can evolve into love or stay at friendship._

_Spiritual Attraction: To do with awareness of your own body and mind, in context with the world, in context with theirs. _

_Intellectual Attraction: Based in intellectual stimulation, or conceptual stimulation._

_Physical Attraction: Beauty_

Sherlock looked at each point in turn, trying to deduce himself. It hadn't worked in the past, but this was a very different situation.

He felt affection for John, he knew that. He'd been living with the man for nearly 6 months. He could tell when his perceptions of him were changing. He just liked being near him, having him nearby on cases, he was safe.

Awareness. Sherlock was always aware. For instance at this very moment he knew that John would be sitting in his favourite chair with a book beside him that he meant to keep reading but he wouldn't. He would have the telly on but he wouldn't be watching it. He would be drinking tea, yes it was tea time on John's clock right about now. He would be sitting there sipping it, closing his eyes, savouring the taste, holding those beautiful lips together...

Sherlock stopped his train of thought. Had he actually just thought of John's lips as beautiful.

Hmm, he moved on. Intellectual. There was no doubt about it that John was intelligent, not in the same way as Sherlock, but he did provide entertainment, and 'stimulation' in his conversations. He wasn't as much of an idiot as Sherlock sometimes pretended he was. Sherlock was never bored when John was around.

Physical. John had a medium build, sandy hair, army haircut. He had a nice face, and was just generally 'nice' looking. Sherlock had wondered more often of late, what it would be like to lie down next to him on the sofa until he gradually made his way so that he was lying on him. He wouldn't be completely solid, but not squishy either, he would be that magical in between texture, cuddly. He'd also wondered what it would be like to push him against the wall of their flat after a particularly stressful case and thoroughly invade his mouth until he couldn't stand straight and was merely leaning against the wall, panting and straining for more...

Sherlock groaned inwardly and pushed that pressing image to the back of his mind. His phone buzzed from the corner where he had thrown it earlier in the day. It was a text message from Lestrade requesting his presence at Scotland Yard for some verification on cold cases.

He replied that he would be there within half an hour and went to get his coat and John.

It had only taken a small amount of convincing to get John to come with him to the yard.

"But it's nearly 6:30 Sherlock?"

"We'll only be there for less than 10 minutes, and besides, I get more done when you're standing beside me telling me not to insult everything."

"Fine."

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><p>They were on their way back, Lestrade wasn't kidding when he said he only needed some verification. The taxi was silent until John spoke up, "So uhh, how did your cataloguing go?"<p>

Sherlock didn't look at him, "Well. I'm leaving the experiment for the moment I think. It's getting in the way, and you're anticipating what I'm going to do. It's affecting the data."

"Well, are you going to go back to it."

"Maybe, at a later date, when I have more data."

"You're going to do it without telling me aren't you."

"Yes."

John sighed, "I don't see why you just can't tell me, or even better, do it on another person."

"I told you, you affect the data, and I don't...there isn't another person to do it with."

John eyebrow rose but he didn't acknowledge Sherlock's slip, "Well then, I suppose I can stop worrying now seeing as you're leaving it for a bit."

Sherlock nodded, "Not that you had cause to worry to begin with."

The taxi arrived at 221B before John had a chance to retort. John was getting the key out of his pocket when he became aware of Sherlock standing very close behind him, so close, he could feel the other man's breath on his ear, making him shiver.

When Sherlock spoke his voice was low and breathy, "I would suggest you cease to worry about this experiment at all and just, take things as they come and react accordingly."

The very sound of his voice sent a pool of warmth to John's stomach and all he could do was nod as he let them both into the flat.

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><p><em><strong>AN: Soo, what do you think now? Is Sherlock doing the right thing by abandoning his experiment? Reviews are appreciated and answered most of the time if possible... =)**_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: Thank you so much guys again for all the favourites and the alerts and the reviews. It has really helped when I've been sitting at my computer just looking at a blank screen. I tried to make this chapter a little longer; hence it took me a bit longer to write. I still have not proper beta so the mistakes are all mine :)**_

_**Anyways, anything else of importance will come afterwards…on with the chapter.**_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine.**_

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><p>John Watson was going batty. It had been nearly a whole month since Sherlock had first propositioned him about his experiment, then stopped all of a sudden. John stayed guarded for about a week, waiting for Sherlock to make some sort of ulterior move but to no avail. The man was infuriating. It was back to normal at Baker Street, and John found that he was not quite happy with the arrangements. No matter how much he told himself that he was acting like a bloody teenage girl, he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Sherlock hadn't stopped his experiment. He also found himself blushing in the privacy of his room when he realised that he wouldn't have minded in the least if Sherlock had continued his experiment. He decided that it was in his best interests that he get out of the flat for a bit. Sarah had been asking him over for drinks for a few weeks now, and he took the opportunity not to refuse her again. Besides, he thought blithely, if I get sloshed enough I might remember how I like 'women'.<p>

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><p>Sherlock on the other hand, was quite happy with how things were turning out. He was getting quite a lot of data from John, even though he didn't realise it. He could see how John was looking at him more, how he was slightly, just slightly, surprised, and a little disappointed when Sherlock acted exactly the same as normal. Sherlock also noticed how much harder it was for him to attempt to act as he normally did. He felt urges, primal urges when John was near to touch him, simply reach out and grab his shoulder or his arm. He pulled himself away consciously when he leaned over him at crime scenes, only to hear John's discontented sigh at the small lack of contact. All in all, Sherlock was sure that he was in some way attracted to his flatmate, and his flatmate seemed to return the feelings. He was sure John had noticed these small things, after all, he had noticed them himself, and he rarely turned his deduction skills inward.<p>

He was unpleasantly surprised however, when John announced he was going out to Sarah's.

"Didn't you, break up, with her?"

John turned around at the doorway, "It's just a few drinks, nothing too major."

And with that he walked out the door, leaving Sherlock to ponder this new development in his plan.

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><p>Sherlock paced. He sat down. He played Bach, then Paganini, then Schubert. Then he pondered some more. He looked out the window to see if John was coming home soon. There was no taxi. He turned on the telly. He turned it off again. He was bored. He took out his nicotine patches, and carefully placed one on his arm, then another, and another. It didn't add up, and Sherlock Holmes was not one to let a fact evade him if he could help it. He assumed his customary thinking position on the couch and looked at the time quickly on his phone, 12:07am and deduced that John must be staying the night, or he's passed out on Sarah's lounge.<p>

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><p>He was just about to sort through the information that he had gathered when there was a loud thump on the door of the flat. Sherlock looked at his phone, 1:34am, then back at the door. It shuddered, then the drunken form of Dr John Watson stumbled into the room. There was a muttered curse as John tried to put his coat on a chair and ended up dropping it on the floor. Sherlock wrinkled his nose, he could smell the alcohol from where he was lying, John was well and truly intoxicated.<p>

The man in question slumped into his normal chair, head in his hands, mumbling something inaudible. Sherlock stared at him for a few minutes, assessing the situation. He could speak, and possibly make himself the target for the next rant about how John had not managed to successfully have intercourse with Sarah. The rant in question would be dull, predictable, and Sherlock was not quite prepared to listen considering this would be the sixth time he had heard it. Next option, he could simply stand up and go to bed, well, not to sleep, but he could find something in his room to occupy him while John was slowly falling into a drunken sleep on the couch. He could also put John in his own bed to save him the pain that sleeping on the couch would bring him.

Slight movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It appeared that John had made the unconscious decision to attempt to sleep sitting in his chair. He was moving around trying to get comfortable, his cotton shirt riding up his stomach slightly in his efforts. Sherlock was transfixed, and he couldn't take his eyes away even if he wanted to. Finally, John stopped moving, appearing to have found a slightly comfortable position, albeit one that required his shirt to be exposing his stomach to his incredibly interested flatmate. This was simply unfair, Sherlock decided. It would not do for John to tease his flatmate in this manner, especially when he was intoxicated and had no idea he was doing it.

He made the decision to put John in bed quickly, then formulated a plan as to how to carry it out. He hoped John was still slightly awake, as Sherlock doubted that his slim frame could carry the entire weight of the solid army doctor. He prodded the doctor gently with his finger, earning a low breathy moan that went straight to his stomach. John's eyes flickered open, "Sherlock," he muttered, "I'm sleeping."

Sherlock wound one of his arms around John and bodily forced him to stand, "No you're not. Not on the sofa. You will be complaining to high heavens tomorrow if I allow you to torture yourself to that extent."

John leaned heavily against Sherlock for a couple minutes before regaining his balance and he allowed himself to be lead to his room.

"Are you taking me to bed?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his sleepy voice.

Sherlock rolled his eyes out of habit before replying sarcastically, "Yes, I intend to bed you while you are intoxicated and therefore have no say in the matter."

"You're being sarcastic. But just for the record, I would have a say, I would say yes." John slurred as Sherlock opened the door to his room.

John's breath near his ear was really getting quite distracting and Sherlock was secretly quite glad to remove his arm from around John's waist as he followed him into the bedroom.

Sherlock was expecting John to maybe say something else completely ridiculous, before stumbling to his bed and falling asleep nearly instantly. He was not expecting to be pinned against the wall by a small army doctor who seemed not quite as intoxicated as before.

Sherlock noticed things very quickly, he analysed his surroundings in great detail, generally when he was under a lot of stress or cornered. It helped him to keep his nerve. He noticed that John's pupils were incredibly dilated, his breathing was heavy, his breath smelled of a mixture of rum and some other liquors that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He also noticed that Johns hands weren't moving, one was on his shoulder, pinning him, the other was splayed across his chest, gripping at him through his shirt. The man's whole demeanour was domineering, and Sherlock would be lying to himself if he said it didn't turn him on a little. John was looking at him, searching for something, then he looked at his hand on Sherlock's chest and moved back slightly. His face contorted as he searched for the words to say.

"I'm a bit sloshed."

Sherlock nodded, not wanting to say the wrong thing and have John move away too quickly.

"I'm probably not even going to remember this in the morning."

His hand was moving now, tracing the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, stopping just before his belt, then moving back up again. Sherlock was transfixed by the sight, and he was definitely not expecting John to lean up and plant a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

The pressure was warm, firm and not unwelcome. All of a sudden Sherlock was at a loss with what to do with his hands. John had his placed perfectly, and Sherlock felt awkward with his just barely grazing John's hips. John moved so that their lips aligned more easily, and gently licked Sherlock's lips before pressing against them again, still probing with his tongue, trying to gain entrance to his mouth.

Sherlock moaned as John's hands moved to grip his hips firmly, still kissing him as though his life depended on it. He conceded to John's insistent tongue and opened his mouth just slightly so that it darted forward to taste him. The feel of John's tongue against his own brought him back to reality sharply. He couldn't let this go any further with the knowledge that John probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning. He couldn't take advantage of the man in this state.

He pushed John away gently, ignoring the pleas of protest.

"You're going to sleep now." He said abruptly, hoping his tone of voice would at least get through to him.

John sighed, before allowing himself to be led towards his bed. Sherlock pushed him gently, but not graciously onto the bed, and covered him with a blanket. John was asleep before he even closed the door, he could tell by the sound of his breathing.

Sherlock resumed his thinking position in the sitting room. He had a lot more data to process now before John woke up. He pressed a finger to his lips where he could still feel the pressure of John's kiss, he darted his tongue out to moisten his lips and, oh; Vodka and Whiskey, an interesting mix.

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><p><em><strong>AN: Sooo, thoughts? There can never be too many cooks in my pot so all thoughts are taken and appreciated, and will be hopefully replied to. =) I'm getting better at that, believe me. **_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: Oh God this chapter was a trek and a half to get out. It's unbearably short but I just had the worst writers block ever after that last chapter. Thank you again for reading, reviewing and favouriting and all that jazz. It really makes a girl feel loved, and you know, it helps me to know that my writing isn't all that bad. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and you'll be glad to know that I've started the next one, so the wait shouldn't be too long. **_

_**Anyways, anything else of importance will come afterwards…on with the chapter.**_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine.**_

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><p>It was not often that Sherlock Holmes berated himself, on account of the fact that he knew all of the possible outcomes of a scenario before it happened, and had taken them all into consideration. Yet here he was, sitting on the couch, deliberating over what caused his gross misconduct to his experiment.<p>

Sherlock had a thirst for knowledge. So much so that he often deliberately ignored the wishes of others in order to obtain it. So why had it been that he had chosen to back away from John Watson, when he could have pressed for the information he so sorely desired. This was a difficult puzzle, and needed the right environment to think about it.

He picked up his violin absent-mindedly, and plucked at the strings mildly. Not satisfied with the noise he was already making, he picked up his bow and began to play softly. Sibelius would be just right for a quiet morning.

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><p>John awoke to music, and a sore head, and some very odd memories. He groaned as he rolled out of his bed, and shuffled into the bathroom. He vaguely remembered stumbling back to the flat after a very drunk conversation with Sarah, and Sherlock's arm around him as he guided him through the door to his room and...oh, had he really done that? He looked in the mirror and groaned again, before splashing some water on his face. Being attracted to your flatmate was one thing, but attempting to snog the poor man senseless, whilst you were intoxicated was another thing altogether.<p>

Last nights clothes fell to the floor as John prepared for a shower that would hopefully eradicate his throbbing headache. When he emerged, dripping water on the floor he noticed that the music was still drifting around the flat. Sherlock must be thinking. He managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, though his head was still hurting. He made a cup of tea and walked slowly to the sitting room. Sherlock was standing to the side of the room, playing his violin, his eyes closed, apparently deep in thought. Sherlock played, and John drank his tea. It was only when John had nearly finished his cup that Sherlock stopped playing and sat down, his elbows on his knees, looking at John with contemplation in his eyes.

It was a rather unnerving experience to have Sherlock's gaze centred on you. It made John feel as though he could hide nothing, not that he normally could hide anything from the consulting detective anyway. John cleared his throat before saying gruffly, "Thank you, for not letting me sleep on the couch."

Sherlock nodded once, but didn't say anything, he merely continued to stare in John's direction, eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to figure something out.

"Also, I'm sorry, for my uhh, actions, if they caused you any, uhh, displeasure."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed some more, "They didn't."

John gulped his mouthful of tea at the curt answer, "Righto then, well, yes, okay then."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side at John's reaction, " Did they cause you any, displeasure?"

John was smart enough to not attempt another mouthful of tea before answering, "what? No, no."

"You're embarrassed."

"I did try and snog you senseless."

"You nearly succeeded."

"And you expect me to not be embarrassed, you're my flatmate, I have to live with you."

"If you were sober I would have let you."

John stopped, "Wait, what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I said, if you were not severely intoxicated at the time when you had me pinned forcefully up against a wall, then I would have happily let you snog me senseless."

"Really?"

"No, I'm just saying that make you feel awkward, what do you think, idiot."

John took a long sip of what was left of his tea. He decided that it was too cold, and stood to go to the kitchen to make another cup. He saw Sherlock lean back into his chair as he left the sitting room, and shuddered inwardly as he realised that this conversation was not quite at an end.

While he waited for the kettle to boil, he tried to remember exactly what he'd done last night. He remembered pinning Sherlock to the wall, and vaguely remembered the feel of lips against his own, but the details were fuzzy. This was no good. He couldn't even remember the conversation he'd had with Sarah, and he was sure that it was important. And now he had to face a Sherlock who seemed intent on talking about what had happened even though he couldn't remember the finer details.

When he finally walked back into the sitting room, Sherlock's head was leaning back against his hands. As he sat down Sherlock spoke, "How much do you remember?"

John swallowed his tea before answering, "Not a lot actually. I don't remember what I spoke to Sarah about, or coming home. I vaguely remember ummm, you, and that's about it."

"You must have had a lot to drink."

"Well, yes. You could say that."

"Do you regret it?"

"What? The drinking or..."

"Both?"

"No, not really."

A smile ghosted over Sherlock's features briefly, "Good."

John nodded and proceeded to finish his second cup of tea, hopefully before it went cold. He didn't really want to think about what happened, but the way that Sherlock was looking at him was making him feel funny. If only he could remember what he'd spoken to Sarah about, he had a gut feeling that it was something important, that he needed to remember.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was pleased with his experiment. It was going exactly as he'd planned. Based on John's reactions he had obviously spoken with Sarah regarding Sherlock in some degree, but he couldn't remember, hence why he was embarrassed about his reactions last night. Sherlock smiled as John stood to go and wash his cup in the kitchen, and wondered if he could push his luck. He stood and followed his flatmate into the kitchen under the guise of checking an experiment. As he walked past John he brushed his arm against him. He felt the army doctor stiffen slightly, then relax as he realised he was walking past.<p>

John came to stand beside him as he examined the various moulds on petri dishes that he was growing. He was very close, Sherlock noted, their arms were almost touching. His breath ghosted along Sherlock's neck and he fought to suppress a shiver. Without thinking, Sherlock turned and pressed a light kiss to the doctor's cheek, a mere few centimetres away from the corner of his mouth.

"If you wanted that again, all you had to do was ask," he stated abruptly before putting the experiment down and moving swiftly from the kitchen. He sat down in the sitting room, analysing his reaction. It was John's breath against his neck that had done it, made him lose control like that. He rubbed a hand along where he'd felt the breath.

When he looked up, John was standing in front of him, with mildly red cheeks. He raised an eyebrow in question, even though he had a fair idea what it would be.

John was stuttering, "I, well, I'd like to, now that I'm not sloshed, maybe..."

Sherlock decided to put the poor man out of his misery and grabbed the sleeve of John's jumper, "Yes."

John's face lit up, "Oh, good, I just wanted to uhh, try, I guess."

"Just kiss me John."

_**A/N: I enjoyed writing that last bit, not going to lie. Spill your thoughts on this chapter, what do you think? As always, I love suggestions and critique, and I work hard to use and fix my writing where possible. :)**_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: This was just as bad as the last one to get out. Luckily my writers block left after I spent like 3 days trying to write this one sentence at a time. Thanks so much for all the reviews, it really does get me going, until life and work get in the way. And the alerts and favourites and stuff, it just does wonders for my self esteem as a writer. **_

_**I'm happy with this chapter, so I hope you guys are also. **_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine.**_

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><p>It was the same tension John had felt the first night of Sherlock's experiment. The thickness of the air enveloped him, and he suddenly forgot that he was in the same room as the world's only consulting detective in a dressing gown who had just told him to kiss him. Sherlock was looking at him expectantly, his eyes unreadable in the soft light that was coming in through the window. John leaned forward and his lips touched Sherlock's for the briefest of moments, pressing down slightly, then leaning back. In reality, it lasted a few seconds, though it felt like an age to the embarrassed army doctor.<p>

He wasn't sure what he expected, flashing lights, fireworks. It was just like any other kiss, the only difference was that it was with Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"Well that was toned down a little from last night."

Sherlock's statement crashed through his mind place and brought him back to reality. John felt himself go red. He didn't have much time to feel embarrassed however, because the next thing he knew, Sherlock's arm was creeping around his neck, pulling his face closer, before pressing their lips together again, this time harder, more insistent. He felt the hand that was on his neck thread itself in his hair. Sherlock gave an experimental tug on the strands, and John was surprised to hear himself moan softly as it was pulled. Sherlock's tongue slid across his lips, and John opened his mouth to the intrusion gladly.

Sherlock kissed the same way he did everything in life, John decided, with clinical precision. It was like he'd read a textbook on how to kiss and was following the instructions. John felt himself moan softly again as Sherlock pulled away. He looked down at him with a curious expression on his face.

"Was that satisfactory?"

John was speechless again, properly speechless this time.

"uh...Satisfactory? That's the word you choose to use..."

Sherlock's face remained impassive, with the movement of his eyes narrowing being the only factor showing that consulting detective, was, at the present moment, a little confused.

"Would you prefer me to use another? Adequate? Tolerable? Satisfying? Appeasing?"

"Shut up Sherlock. You can't just kiss someone then ask them if it was satisfactory, when you know full well that it was bloody brilliant."

"So it was satisfactory?"

"Yes...yes it was, bloody hell, you must be a nightmare after sex."

John groaned as realised that he'd said the last bit out loud.

"You do realise you said that out-"

"Yes, I know Sherlock."

John moved back, he was too close to Sherlock for his liking at the moment. The bloody detective and his bloody quirks were going to be the death of him. He felt a shudder of shame as he realised that he'd probably just played into Sherlock's darned experiment.

* * *

><p>Sherlock on the other hand, was working at a thousand miles a minute to try and figure out what was going on the doctor's brain. He was red, his pupils were dilated, his breathing was slightly heavier than normal, and yet he'd moved away from Sherlock, who was the source of these reactions. Maybe he was embarrassed by what he'd done. Maybe he hadn't really wanted to kiss Sherlock at all. But he did talk about what might happen after sex, as if it was a possibility, and he was contributing rather spectacularly to the kiss when it happened so-<p>

"Stop thinking Sherlock."

John's voice was flat, and his face was guarded. Sherlock frowned. He hated it when John did that, he wasn't so easy to read when he made the effort to guard his expressions.

"You don't need to analyse everything you know."

"Oh you don't understand John, I do. I need to understand these things."

"Not with me you don't. I'm not your guinea pig."

Sherlock frowned again, "But, I didn't say you were."

John rolled his eyes, having shuffled around around so that his armchair was safely between him and the consulting detective. "Oh yeah, about a month ago, you stated to me that you wanted to do an experiment on attraction, specifically, sexual attraction. You stopped because apparently I was affecting the data by being wary. I wait a bit over a month and suddenly you're coming onto me again, after I come home drunk and try to snog you. Forgive me if it seems as though my mistake has acted as a catalyst in your mind to try and attempt your experiment again."

Sherlock was impressed. He wasn't impressed by many things, but John had come up with quite a clever argument this time. The facts did add up, but he had forgotten one crucial thing.

"Your deductions are becoming quite impressive John, but you should think them through more. You seem to be forgetting that the catalyst in this situation would appear to be the moment you walked into the sitting room stuttering about wanting to kiss me when you are not 'completely sloshed'."

John looked confused for a moment, "Oh, I did that, didn't I? Well-"

"And I didn't lie when I said I abandoned my experiment."

John's mouth formed an 'O' as he appeared to struggle to process the information he was being given. Sherlock smiled a little at the sight, it was quite endearing.

"So...I'm not your guinea pig?"

"No."

"Right. Ok then."

Sherlock's phone dinged from the sofa. He picked it up with a smooth motion and opened the text. It was from Lestrade, requesting them at the Yard as soon as possible. Could be a vicious double murder.

"I'm so sorry John, but we'll have to continue this later, we're needed at the yard."

Sherlock walked swiftly from the room leaving John behind, still processing. If he wasn't Sherlock's guinea pig, then what was he, a pet cat that he kept around to stroke when he got bored?

He shook his head at the image, before realising that if he wanted to catch the same cab as Sherlock he'd have to get down the stairs in a matter of seconds. He grabbed his coat and slammed the door shut, following after his detective, and barely making it to the cab in time.

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><p><em><strong>AN: Here we are at the end of another chapter. I would make some ridiculous promise that I will update within the next three days but I think we all know that won't happen by now. I will however TRY and update quickly as I have less work this week than I did last week. So, thoughts, constructive criticism, what do you think?**_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews and favourites and alerts. (I say that every time, but I still mean it.) It does great things for my motivation. And I do try and work all the suggestions as much as possible :)**_

_**Many thanks to 'thisisforyou' for the Beta. I feel a lot better knowing my work is being read before going to the public. It might save another fiasco where John gets magically dressed in one sentence :/**_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine.**_

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><p>Relatively speaking Sherlock found the case boring. It was open and shut. The wife had cheated on her husband, then the lover found out she was married after asking her to go steady with him. Overcome with jealousy he killed them both. Dull. Honestly, why couldn't Lestrade just think sometimes? Sherlock could have rattled off the answer the minute he walked through the door yet the Detective Inspector insisted that they follow through the motions of an investigation.<p>

"_It puts the team at ease, makes you seem less like a machine."_

Sherlock didn't care whether the force thought he was a machine or not, but he listened to Lestrade because of the grudging respect that he had for the man.

Currently he and John were standing in the alley next to the victim's house, where the bodies had been dragged to.

"But why didn't he just leave the bodies in the house?"

"He was ready to go steady with the wife John, he felt some sort of emotional attachment, and with that comes some remorse, however angry he was. He probably felt compelled to move the bodies then realised that he couldn't lug them halfway across London, so he left them."

John leaned back against the wall and sighed. "What? How did you - you've figured out who did it already haven't you?"

Sherlock looked at his Doctor. "Well, yes, I knew what had happened the moment we arrived at the scene."

"And you didn't think to just tell Lestrade?"

"Lestrade prefers it when I at least make it look like I've had to investigate."

He joined John leaning against the wall. John was chuckling quietly.

"What's funny, John?"

More chuckling. "You can't giggle, it's a crime scene, there's bodies there, its' not decent."

An actual laugh now. "WHAT?"

John struggled to pull his facial features into line as he tried to answer, "You. Only you could complain about having to pretend to do work that you don't even get paid for, and then try and lecture me about what's not decent at a crime scene."

"Yes, well, I suppose you're right, maybe I should ask for pay every now and again..."

John had stopped giggling now, at least out loud. His eyes were closed and his head was back against the wall as he continued to laugh silently about whatever thoughts were racing through his head. Sherlock studied him for a moment. The man was a mystery. He was so simple and complex at the same time. Just when Sherlock thought he knew what he was doing, John would go and do something completely different and throw him off track. For someone who was ordinary in the extreme, he was very captivating, not that he would ever tell him that.

For a small moment, Sherlock felt compelled to kiss him. He was just standing there; it would be so easy to just lean over and trap him against the wall. He looked around. Lestrade was nowhere to be seen, but he knew that he would be along soon to complain that they were taking too long at the scene for people that he didn't pay to be there. He didn't have much time if he was going to. He also didn't know how John would react, but he would have to take that as it came. He shifted slightly, still studying John's face, which at the present moment was remarkably calm considering that they were standing next to two bloodied bodies. His eyes flew open as he heard Sherlock move and looked at him quizzically. Sherlock groaned inwardly as he heard the heavy footsteps of Lestrade approaching the corner.

"You found anything, Sherlock?"

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><p>John raised his eyebrow as he took in Sherlock's change of stance. Where he had been leaning against the wall a moment ago, he was now standing, looking almost predatory, nearly in front of John. If he didn't know any better, he would say that Sherlock had probably just intended to somehow molest him in front of two dead bodies. That combined with the barely visible roll of his eyes when Lestrade's voice boomed down the alley. John almost chuckled to himself; the man had no idea. Sherlock had turned now to face Lestrade who was walking briskly towards them.<p>

"The woman had a lover. Someone who was available during her husband's work hours. He didn't know she was married, or if he did, didn't know she was still married at that point. They probably met up at different places, the fact that he wasn't comfortable enough with the area to know a suitable hiding place for the bodies suggests that it was his first visit to her house. If he knew the area then he would know that two streets down there is a storm-water drain that's currently open for repair. He could've dumped the bodies in there, made it look like an accident, but he didn't, why not? He didn't know, didn't spend enough time around here. Why not, he was obviously friendly with the wife? He didn't know she was married, she didn't want him to know. He finds out, kills them both, crime of passion. He's from out of town, check her records see where she frequented, he's probably of similar build to the husband, right handed, he'll be distraught, easy to find."

John couldn't quite count the amount of times he had watched Sherlock go through a deduction like that, only to find himself at the end with his mouth open, generally spouting nonsense such as, "That was brilliant."

"You're doing that out loud again John."

"Right, sorry."

"No, it's fine, I just thought you should know"

Lestrade was looking at them both, still processing Sherlock's information.

"Well if that's all, Inspector, I have a rather pressing experiment waiting at the flat."

Lestrade seemed to stir into action at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Yes, well, I think you've given us more than enough to go on."

"Oh, you had more than enough to go on to begin with, your team just doesn't look."

"Right, well, I hope the experiment goes well."

"I'm sure it will."

John nodded a quick apology to Lestrade's wounded pride in front of his team before following Sherlock towards the main road. He was walking briskly, but it wasn't long before he stopped and hailed a cab. John was quite thankful; as fit as he was, it was nice to have a ride every now and again.

"You don't have to insult Lestrade every time we go to a case, you know."

"Mmmm."

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock basically leapt out of the cab to open the door to the flat. He followed him inside, only to nearly run into him when he didn't realise that he'd stopped at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing Sherlock?"

John looked at his watch, he was about to miss the start of the afternoon news. Not that it mattered, because the next coherent thought he had was banished as Sherlock shoved him against the door. He fought valiantly against his army instincts once he realised that Sherlock meant him no harm.

It was a tense few minutes as John struggled to control his breathing, and stop his heart from racing. "You...you shouldn't do that. I could punch you. Soldier, remember?"

"I know. But you won't punch me."

"Why not? I could, hard."

"Because I'm going to do this-"

John's thoughts fled as Sherlock kissed him for the third time that day. He could feel the detective's body pressed flush against his as he thoroughly devoured his mouth. A pool of warmth settled in his stomach as he felt Sherlock's fingers trail along his cheek, around his neck to slide through his hair. Sherlock was kissing him leisurely now, his tongue languidly exploring the doctor's mouth as if he had all the time in the world.

Which he did. Because neither man heard Mrs Hudson behind them until the third time she whispered, "Boys! Not on my landing!"

John was feeling rather giddy as he opened the door and had trouble biting back a giggle as Sherlock replied scathingly, "Really Mrs Hudson, this is the most fun your landing has seen for at least seventy years. I'm sure it doesn't care."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Yay! Another chapter down. What did you think of this one? Rubbish? Brilliant? Somewhere in the middle? **_

_**I recently connected my laptop to the wi-fi at my Uni so I think we know how much work I'll be doing there between Tumblr and FanFiction :D Side effect of that is I'm no longer restricted to writing and uploading at my house. Hooray for more writing time :D**_

_**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one. There shall be another soon, I promise. **_


	8. Chapter 8

**The Science of Attraction**

**_A/N: Well this one has taken a while, I must say. Between my brilliant writer's block and absolute inability to write smut, to computer issues with my trusty Beta, it's been a trek and a half. _**

**_Many many many thanks to 'thisisforyou' for the lovely Beta, especially with the internet being a fool and not letting the documents upload. _**

**_Without any further ado, on with the chapter. Enjoy! I hope you all think it was worth the wait. _**

**_Disclaimer: They're not mine. _**

In that moment, John Watson was sure the landing didn't mind either. That was why he groaned in defeat when Mrs Hudson decided to continue her little rant about not that she didn't mind, but could they keep it to their flat...not a good image for roughly 10 minutes.

He half expected Sherlock to close the door on her like he did so frequently to Anderson, but to his surprise Sherlock just stood and listened. By the time she was done (in reality it was only five minutes, but it felt much longer) John assumed Sherlock was no longer 'in the mood', so to speak; he just closed the door quietly behind him and sat down on his chair to read. John, being the steadfast Englishman that he was, decided to go and make tea.

The afternoon passed uneventfully, much to John's disappointment. He didn't know what he'd expected, but he didn't expect Sherlock to be put off by Mrs Hudson's ramblings. He tried to unsuccessfully watch the evening news, but was put off by Sherlock's bored commentary on how everything was dull, and he wished that the news-readers would at least make an effort to put on interesting news.

At nearly exactly 7:18pm, John decided he would have an early night. He needed to get up and go to the clinic early, and he hadn't been sleeping well lately. He stood up to the gruff sound of Sherlock's voice. "Where are you going?"

John rolled his shoulders sleepily as he replied, "I'm going to bed, I need to go to the clinic in the morning."

"Dull," was the bored reply from the sofa.

"Yeah well, someone needs to pay our bills."

Whether he'd hit a nerve or not, John couldn't tell. Sherlock had curled up in a ball about half an hour ago, and still wasn't moving. He wasn't sure if the lack of reply was due to annoyance, or just because Sherlock was too bored to talk.

He moved towards the bathroom and had a quick shower, letting the steaming water clear some of his head. He was just getting comfortable in his bed when he heard a slight knock at his door. He leaned up on his shoulders as his flatmate walked in and sat at the end of his bed.

"What do you want Sherlock?"

He couldn't see the detective's face, but from the way he was sitting, John could tell he was thinking.

The Doctor struggled to sit up against his pillow; when he achieved his goal, Sherlock was sitting cross-legged facing him.

"I am confused John."

John waited a moment, expecting there to be more than that one statement. When no more were forthcoming he shrugged slightly. "Well, what are you confused about? And why are you sitting on my bed asking me about it? Do an experiment, that's what you do when you're confused."

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><p>John would have said that he regretted that statement, as his words appeared to spur Sherlock into action. But the minute he found himself in the position of lying in bed, clad in only his boxers, with the world's only consulting detective above him with one knee pressing very gently at his legs, opening them, pressing through the thin sheet that separated them, giving him a foothold, as it were, any splash of regret was immediately banished from mind. The detective's breath ghosted along his neck as he leaned forward, causing John to shiver.<p>

"Your reactions: your pupils dilate, your breathing quickens, I haven't even done anything to you yet and I can feel your cock twitching. All this indicates you want me. And in the alley, it didn't take a genius to figure out that if I was to kiss you then and there, you would have done nothing to stop it. Yet when Lestrade came along you were fidgety, you kept glancing at me because I was still in close proximity to you; when I mentioned an experiment, you shuddered, possibly because I currently have 6 human toes in the freezer and you hate the smell when I take them out, more likely because you KNEW what I was about to do and for some strange idiotic reason you thought Lestrade did as well. Embarrassment. Why would you feel embarrassment?"

John opened his mouth to say something - anything - to Sherlock analysing the situation further, but the detective stopped him by pressing one finger swiftly to his lips, and pressing his lips to John's pulse point in his neck at the same time. He sucked gently on it, drawing a keening moan from the doctor, sending all his blood rushing south.

"And at the flat, you were perfectly ok with being snogged into a wall, until Mrs Hudson. As soon as you heard her voice, you stiffened. I know that because I heard her all 3 times, and you did too. You were absolutely itching for me to stop right from the first time. Why?"

John would have spoken, but at that moment Sherlock moved back to the pulse point he had previously given his attentions, and moved his thigh so that it was pressing insistently against the increasing hardness in John's boxers. The detective apparently had a point he wanted to make, and John groaned as he felt Sherlock's thigh rub deliciously against his erection that was quite prominent now, even through the sheet.

"You obviously have no issues with anything in the privacy of our flat."  
>Somehow the sheet had disappeared and John arched his back as Sherlock's body lay flush against his.<p>

"Is it because I'm not a woman? I doubt it, you're much too 'into' this for that to be the reason. In fact I'd go so far as to say you only date women to try and assert to yourself that you're heterosexual."

John spluttered, and was about to defend his dignity when Sherlock thrust his hips into John's, turning the start of his half formed argument into more of an, "Oh dear god, Sherlock!"

"Are concerned with public image? Like Mrs Hudson? Afraid I'm going to push you up against a wall in Scotland Yard and have my way with you?"

John swallowed roughly. Sherlock's voice had dropped about three octaves in the last few minutes and it wasn't doing his current condition any favours. Not that having a lanky detective drape his body over yours and grind your erections together was going to do anyone any favours. He didn't seem intent on stopping either; John could practically feel the heat oozing from his flatmates body as he attacked his neck and shoulders, licking, sucking, even going so far as biting gently between his blasted deductions.

Sherlock lifted himself up slightly, looking down into John's face, his eyes calculating even as he shifted to align their hips more easily to allow the most possible friction.

"Is it because of stereotypes? Are you afraid of being labelled?"

John was only barely listening now; the assault on his senses was really becoming too much. Sherlock's calculated thrusts were just on the brink of torture, coupled with the fact that when John tried to reciprocate, Sherlock merely pinned him to bed, not allowing him any movement, grinding against him mercilessly.

John could feel himself coming undone; he no longer tried to hide the moans that were escaping his mouth as Sherlock drove him closer to the edge. In the corner of his mind he could tell that Sherlock was close too: he was talking less, and every now and then, he would close his eyes and lose a bit of his rhythm. His voice took on a gravelly quality as he continued his interrogation.

"Maybe you haven't had as much experience as you say. Maybe you don't think you could possibly do that again. Maybe you find it disgusting, being with a man. Hmm?"

John almost growled when he felt Sherlock pull away, "What do you think-"  
>His protest was cut off as Sherlock slid his boxers down to his knees, along with his own pyjama pants. In an instant, Sherlock's body covered his own again, and he groaned out loud at the feeling of skin on skin contact.<p>

"Is this disgusting, John Watson?"

Sherlock's hand snaked between them, somehow managing to grasp both of their rigid erections, fisting them slowly, his eyes fixed on John's. His gaze was intense, too intense, but John couldn't bring himself to look away.

"Is it?"

As Sherlock sped up his ministrations, he captured John's mouth in a searing kiss. John moaned into his mouth as he felt his impending orgasm rush forward, spilling out over Sherlock's hand. He vaguely felt Sherlock's own seed spill onto his stomach and the lanky detective fell forward onto him, completely spent.

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><p>It took John a while to regulate his breathing to normal, and Sherlock still hadn't moved. He poked him in the side experimentally. The detective didn't respond.<br>"Umm, what was that, Sherlock?"

Sherlock replied, but the actual words were muffled thanks to his head being buried in a certain doctor's shoulder.

John prodded him again. "I didn't quite catch that."

Sherlock raised his head. "I said, once you've had a think about what I have said, we should do that again."

John raised an eyebrow. "So this was all about you realising I didn't like public displays of affection and wanting to make a point about it."

"No, it was about you not liking them and me not caring."

"I don't understand Sherlock."

"Think about it - you still have a good 6 or 7 hours to sleep on it."  
>And with that, Sherlock lifted his body off John's and pulled his own pants up before standing, albeit a bit unsteadily. "Also, have you remembered what you spoke to Sarah about yet?"<p>

Sherlock left the room with a wink reminiscent of the first time they'd met. John felt just as confused now as he had then, the only difference was he now had mixture of his and Sherlock's sperm drying on his stomach.

**_A/N: Well, well, well. What do you all think? _**


	9. Chapter 9

**The Science of Attraction**

**_A/N: Thanks heaps to everyone who has reviewed, Favorited and alerted :) I don't know how much longer this story will go on for, but I think we are slowly drawing to the end. This is a short one to apologize for my lack of updating in the past few weeks. There should be another short chapter later in the week, or early next week, but I'm just sort of fighting writers block...so yeah._**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_Disclaimer: They're not mine. _**

John staggered to the shower. He couldn't quite bring himself to think about what had just occurred in his bed. The hot water cascaded over his shoulders as he cleaned himself up thoroughly. This whole shibang was just happening way too fast for his liking. He liked things to happen at his own pace, he liked to be able to know when things developed, he liked to be able to see when the girl had decided that he was good enough to let into her house, and maybe her bedroom. He did not like Sherlock deciding that he was going to snog him senseless into his bed before bringing him to completion.

It was a different thing altogether this not being in control; and John Watson did not like it at all. It was just very uncomfortable and inconvenient. Hell, he wasn't even sure that he liked men, it was all very touch and go, nothing too concrete.

He turned off the tap a bit more roughly than he'd meant to, and dried himself off before changing into a new, clean pair of boxers. He walked past the living room quietly, when he stopped. Sherlock was sleeping on the couch again, or at least imitating sleep. He was wrapped in his silk dressing gown facing the inside of the seat. It would get chilly in the morning John knew, and he felt bad leaving Sherlock on the couch with no blanket, despite it being the detective's own fault if he was cold; if he would just think things through sometimes.

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><p>Sherlock was comfortable, well, as comfortable as he could be curled up on the couch. He could hear John walking quietly back from the shower to his bedroom, no doubt to ponder over the situation that had just occurred. He heard the man stop, pause for a moment, then walk back the way he came. Why; why would he do that? The sharp click of a door opening and shutting held the answer, linen closet. Of course John would think of something like that. So ridiculously menial of him. He stiffened as he realised that John was walking towards the couch where he was lying. John obviously thought he was asleep, that much was evident by the lightness of his footsteps, and by the extreme gentleness with which he spread the light blanket over his curled frame. Sherlock held his breath as he felt John's fingers touch his hair lightly, and exhaled slowly as he listened for the signs that would tell him that the army doctor had opened the door to his own bedroom. Once he was sure that John wasn't going to come down anytime soon he flipped over onto his back, assuming his thinking position. He considered momentarily throwing the blanket onto the floor, but then he sniffed it; it smelled like John. It was one of John's blankets. This revelation made him decide to keep the blanket, albeit pushing it down a little to free his hands.<p>

This whole situation was an enigma of the highest degree, and Sherlock couldn't help but think that it had all gotten slightly out of hand. He was being faced with emotion, his own emotion at that, and he didn't like it. It distracted him from the work. He could remember clear as day the start of the experiment when he had the whole thing outlined in his notebook, he remembered thinking through the experiment with clinical precision, as if it were a simple matter of chemistry or physics.

The notebook in question was now at the back of his cupboard, collecting dust. He'd abandoned it when he told John he'd abandoned the experiment. It was no use to him now, not when the experiment ceased to be scientific. He hadn't expected this anomaly to arise. It was supposed to be straight forward, 'define the science behind attraction' ; but how would you define a certain, shorter than average army doctor, who could turn your life upside down without you even realising it? How could you define something that you couldn't even describe? Sherlock didn't have any friends to compare the relationship that he had with John to, but he was fairly certain that John didn't allow any of his other friends to bring him to completion the way Sherlock had.

Sherlock felt a stab of worry as he ran over the last few hours in his mind. He hoped he'd done the right thing, it had made sense at the time, and John hadn't complained. He wasn't very experienced in relationships, but he knew the mechanics, and he had a feeling of foreboding of the questions that would come next, that he wouldn't be able to answer, because they were the very same ones that he was asking himself.

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><p>When John awoke the next morning Sherlock was already up. He could tell because his unconventional flatmate had absolutely no idea about how to be quiet when it didn't suit him. His head was throbbing and the banging from the small kitchen was beginning to pound and make it worse, so he dressed quickly, intending to give the detective a good dressing down about respecting people's sleeping habits after disrupting them the night before.<p>

He was not prepared for the body. It took him all of 2 minutes to register just exactly what was going on in his beloved kitchen before he walked out, then walked back in again.

It was still there, lying prone and lifeless on the table, a scalpel being held dangerously close to the bottom of the sternum, held by a rather cheerful private detective who seemed to be waiting on John's reaction.

John opened his mouth, then closed it again, then repeated the action as if it would help him form words, "Care to explain, Sherlock, why there is a body lying where I eat my breakfast."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the clipped tone, but didn't appear phased otherwise. "I needed to do an important experiment and there were no more beds at the hospital. It couldn't wait, so Molly got me clearance to bring it home."

John sighed, the pounding in his head was textbook beginning of a migraine. Sometimes, like now, he just wanted to throttle his flatmate.

"When was this exactly?"

Sherlock put the scalpel down, seeming to assess the situation. John found himself becoming increasingly infuriated at the searching action, not because of anything cumulative that Sherlock had or hadn't done, merely just because he had a headache and he couldn't deal with his flatmates eccentricities this early in the morning, especially when they involved bodies on the kitchen table.

"Well, I went down to see her first thing about it -"

John cut him off, "Don't...Sherlock. Just...I don't need an answer. I'm going to work."

Sherlock's mouth formed a small 'o' as he moved quickly around the table, hoping to head the doctor off before he left the kitchen. He nearly did too, but John was just slightly quicker. He could hear Sherlock's voice even as he walked down the stairs,

"I can move the body so you can eat; you shouldn't go to work on an empty stomach; you're a doctor, you should know that..."

_**A/N: So, what do you think? Again, apologies for the shortness...It will get better, I promise!**_


	10. Chapter 10

**The Science of Attraction**

_**A/N: This has taken a while, and you all have my humblest apologies for that. I have no excuses except for those surrounding my own laziness. That said, Uni has gotten in the way of a few things, fic writing being one of them, but hopefully this should sustain you all until the next chapter. I'm still in a little bit of shock that nearly 200 people exist that like my story...it's a little daunting, not going to lie. The reviews and favourites are my favourite parts of this whole shebang (wink wink), so keep them coming. Many endless thanks to 'thisisforyou' for the brilliant beta!**_

_**On with chapter 10 (we're getting quite far with this aren't we, this is quite a big commitment)**_

_**Disclaimer: They're not mine. **_

John still had a headache when he got to the clinic, though a cup of coffee on the way had abated the throbbing slightly. He met Sarah at the door of the clinic and nodded a quick hello before dashing to his office for some aspirin that he kept as a back-up supply there. It was a fairly quiet day, and John couldn't help but dwell on what Sherlock had mentioned the night before, even if he did make an actual effort not to think about it.

It was a long morning, even though none of the cases were particularly important. By 11 he was exhausted and looking forward to just sitting down in his office. He'd only been sitting for about 5 minutes when he heard a soft knock at the door. It was Sarah; _obviously_, he thought to himself, no one else ever bothered to interrupt his lunch break.

"Are you all right John? You seem a bit… out of it."

He nodded, half hoping she'd go away, half hoping she'd stay and make him talk.

"Is it Sherlock again?"

Another nod.

"What's he done this time?"

She was sitting on the edge of his desk now, waiting for at least a short answer.

He cleared his throat. "I think a more accurate statement would be what _hasn't_ Sherlock Holmes done now."

She had the absolute gall to smile at that. John almost glared at her. Then it hit him.

"You know something I don't, Sarah."

She looked a little confused now, but John pressed forward.

"The night I came over for drinks, I said something - probably a whole lot of something - but whatever it is, you know it and Sherlock's bloody deduced it and I have no idea what's going on."

The smile was back. "So he _did_ figure it out."

Goddamn the woman was infuriating.

"Are you going to tell me what I said?"

Sarah stood up, ruffling his hair like she would a child's.

"I don't think so, John. If Sherlock's figured it out, good for him, but I think it's something you need to realise yourself. Drunken words are sober thoughts, though if he's figured it out, I doubt it will take long for you to realise. Would you like me to shut the door?"

John sighed and stood up. "Sure, I'm just going to get a coffee anyway."

She smiled again as she walked down the hall, leaving John feeling very much like a small child who'd been told something very important but couldn't quite figure out what it was.

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><p>Sherlock made sure to have the body removed by the time John got home. It wouldn't do to have the doctor mad at him, not with his headache; no, migraine, he corrected himself, it would have progressed by now. He played his violin for a short while before flopping onto the couch with a heavy sigh. He was so bored. He could practically hear the silence in the flat ringing through his head. He wasn't so desperate to go to Lestrade for cases just yet. He picked up his phone and decided to give the Russian problem a go.<p>

* * *

><p>John's phone buzzed in his pocket as he walked down the hallway. He slid the screen up, frowning when he saw the text message.<p>

"_Going to Russia for a case. It shouldn't take more than half an hour. I should be back when you get home. SH"_

* * *

><p>By the time Sherlock did get home he was annoyed. He'd walked in, interviewed the man and walked out again and back to the airport all in under 15 minutes. He slumped onto the couch, only just restraining himself from making a huge noise and upsetting Mrs Hudson in his annoyance at the general public and their lack of common sense - and sentence structure. He could still hear the stuttering idiot in the warehouse, <em>"She was sayin' I weren't a real man..."<em>

He heard the front door slam and listened carefully. No-one was walking in, so Mrs Hudson must have walked out. Excellent.

He stood again, this time with a purpose. Walking swiftly to his room he grabbed a can of yellow spray paint from where he'd thrown it earlier that week. Then he paid a quick visit to John's room, extricating the gun from the back of the cupboard; honestly, if John really didn't want him to touch it, he should stop putting it in such obvious places.

He shook the can roughly as he walked swiftly back down the stairs. Time was of the essence.

* * *

><p>The first thing John heard when he walked through the door was a gunshot. If he didn't know better he'd say it was timed to be shot just as he walked in.<p>

He ran up the stairs quickly, thanking the heavens that Mrs Hudson was out. He opened the door of the flat to be placed in front of an almost comical scene. Sherlock was sitting on his chair lazily holding his revolver. As he walked in, the gun was raised and another shot rang throughout the room to a rather dishevelled-looking smiley face that was painted on the wall.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Bored."

John could have strangled Sherlock with his own insensitive words.

"What?"

"Bored!"

Sherlock stood suddenly John took a step back as he aimed the gun theatrically behind his back.

"Bored!" _**Bang! **_"Bored!" _**Bang!**_

It took John a matter of moments to wrestle the gun from Sherlock's grasp. He unloaded it, barely catching the mumbles that were coming from Sherlock's mouth as he walked slowly back to the sofa.

"Good job I'm not one of them."

"So you take it out on the wall?"

To be truthful, John hadn't heard a word Sherlock had said, but he knew the sulking, _'I'm better than everyone else and I'm suffering because of it'_ tone, and he was annoyed enough at his eccentric flatmate.

"The wall had it coming."

John groaned; he was in for a long night of sulking, it seemed.

* * *

><p>Sherlock settled into the couch, smiling slightly as he heard John curse about the head in the fridge. He catalogued the different reactions as they appeared: the resignation when he inquired about the Russian case, the slight pride when he talked about his blog, the slight hurt when Sherlock shut him down. The annoyance as Sherlock's pride got the better of him and he started explaining loudly WHY he didn't need to know that the earth moved around the sun and other silly things like that. He also felt a stab of regret at the look John's face as he finished his argument dramatically with "Put that in your blog! Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."<p>

He rolled over quickly; he didn't want to see John's reaction. He could already tell by his elevated breathing that he'd gone too far. Sure enough, not even three minutes later John had stood up, pulled his coat back on and was walking out the door.

"Where are you going?"

Sherlock could hear the desperation in his own voice, the undertones of _'don't leave, I didn't mean to yell at you'._

"Out, I need some air," came the surly reply.

Sherlock rolled back over as he heard Mrs Hudson walk up the stairs, apologising to John for something on the way.

He groaned inwardly as she knocked on the door, enquiring brightly about the non-existent domestic that had apparently occurred between them.

He stood and made his way to the window, looking out at John's figure crossing the street as Mrs Hudson bustled around in their kitchen, twittering away about how John should have wrapped himself up more.

"Look at that Mrs Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful… isn't it hateful?"

She stopped what she was doing for moment, "Oh, I thought you were going to say something about John for a second there."

Sherlock followed John's path as he walked down the street. Mrs Hudson was right, he should've wrapped up a bit more.

"Oh, John could be hateful every day of the week and I couldn't bring myself to see it, Mrs Hudson."

She joined him at the window, "You'll sort it out love, he's a good boy John. Something will come. A nice murder, that'll cheer you up."

"Can't come too soon."

She laughed as she walked away, almost making it out of the door when she stopped. Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little. She would have the most comical expression on her face if he was to turn around now.

"Hey, what have you done to my bloody wall?"

He turned around to face the smiley face, plastering a grin on his face for Mrs Hudsons' benefit.

"I'm putting this on your rent young man!"

Sherlock grinned a real grin now, basking in his handiwork. He was quite proud of his aim from the armchair.

It took all of 30 seconds before he realised what was happening. The deafening noise that seemed to crash in around him. He heard the glass shatter and didn't even try to resist the force of the explosion that threw him forward onto the carpet. He heard the glass hit the floor around him, and he tried to sit up, but his ears were ringing. He settled for moving his head to view the damage. The windows were gone, but the wall was intact, it must have happened across the street. He heard a delayed startled scream from downstairs, and just managed to pull himself to the armchair as Mrs Hudson reached the doorway.

"Is everything alright? I wasn't being serious about the rent-"

* * *

><p>Not even half an hour later Mycroft walked in.<p>

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><p><em><strong>AN: Well then; you know the drill, leave us a nice lil message about what you think. Give the author some food for thought. :)**_


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